Paper Wings

-Two-

Two Weeks Later, Late January

I looked out the window of our empty apartment. My mother, Bea, said we couldn't afford our small house on Maple Street anymore. I don't believe her. The price for rent hasn't changed since Papa left, and that was years ago, when Bea was pregnant with Warren, our baby brother. That was almost eight years ago, on November eleventh.

Warren didn't live eight years. He didn't live a day. Bea was heartbroken when he died a few hours after his birth in the hospital. The following day, Papa left. He said he couldn't handle having a family. Bea's heart had been broken and he couldn't handle it.

Four years later, my older brother, Tim, ran away. The police never found him. He left a note on the kitchen table the morning he left saying that he'd find us one day, that he wasn't leaving forever. It's been four years. I don't think he's coming back.

What made Bea finally crack, though, was Chelsea's death. We didn't move to this tiny apartment because of the price, we moved because Bea didn't want to live in a home trapped in sorrow. She'd lost all but one of her children, and her husband, too.

When we moved, Bea gave all of Chelsea's things to the Goodwill. When I asked her why, she told me it was time for a fresh start. I didn't want to have a fresh start. I wanted a life with Chelsea, a life where everything stays the same, where Papa, and Tim, and Warren, and Chelsea never left. I wanted a happy life. A normal, happy life where nobody leaves.

Deep inside, I know that's what Bea wants, too. I think she's too afraid to show it.

It's hard to imagine that we moved from a dreary farm town in Tennessee to a tiny apartment in Manhattan with only a suitcase and a shoulder bag each. Bea calls it packing light. I think it's sort of her secret code for running away. She's hiding from our past.

I slide off the windowsill and walk through the apartment, looking for Bea. I shiver as my feet hit the cold floor. I don't have far to walk before I find her. She's in her bedroom, sitting on the bed and crying. My face falls.

I've tried to keep myself composed without crying since the move, but seeing Bea like this makes me crack. A tear skids down my face when I think of Chelsea. I sit down next to Bea. She looks at me.

"It's hard to accept that she's gone," She says as she turns her head. She looks up at me. I nod.

"I wish I'd had the chance to give her a better goodbye." I let my head sink into her shoulder as I whisper the words. My sobs soak her sweater.

"I know," she soothes. "I know."